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I've just found out that there's a wrestling move called 'Sliced Bread #2'. How embarrassing. Anyway, that's not where the title of this journal comes from. I thought it up when I was in high school and always wanted to use it for something.

Thanks to blogger.com for the hosting and the template. Content is copyright Dennis Relser (M. Elmslie) 2004-05.

Monday, February 28, 2005

I'm typing this from a 24-hour internet cafe. I'd use my super-PDA but I think Fantastic Man is jamming it or something, along with the penphone and cellphone and everything else I've got. It's a security flaw that I'm going to be bringing up with Greyghost and Itzhak; apparently Itzhak uses the same broadcasting techniques in all our equipment.

Anyway. I woke up at about three this afternoon and knew, knew, what it was I've been trying to think of for the past few days. Well, almost. See, when I went back and looked through the files again and again, I just read the words. I didn't look in the pictures. But I now remember it was something in one of the pictures that I saw.

So I threw on my coat and boots and booked for the office. I was almost running out the front door of the apartment, and almost bumped into Carlos from downstairs coming the other way. I flung myself to the side to avoid him, and fell into the bushes.

Where there was a cat, staring at me.

"You're wasting your time," I said to her, and scrambled to my feet. And ran.

Running is conspicuous, so I ducked down the first subway entrance I came to. Not a moment too soon, either, because I could hear the whirring of Icecap's Icycle as he buzzed overhead.

Obvious, of course. Icecap and his gang have sworn to catch Claudia Calhoun's murderer, and they've found out I was getting ready to take her on. Therefore I'm either the murderer or an important witness. But I don't trust them at the moment. Some of them I don't trust anytime.

They've been after me all day. I don't dare show up at work, because I don't know for sure if they've caught up to me or not. I called Greyghost's relay number from a pay phone and let him know what was going on. With any luck he'll find a reason to punch Icecap in the head. Since when is Prowl working with these dorks anyway?

The one good thing was when I was running down an alley toward Ogilvy Street and Shadow-Falcon low-bridged himself on a jeweler's awning. Don't quit the paper route!